


Do We Have to Read the Kissing Parts?

by BeaRyan



Series: Tropes for The 100 [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Tropes: impulse marriage, canon divergence in parts, filler fic, shipper fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:44:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing challenge: Raven and Wick, show verse, suddenly married trope.  The trope came out so-so, but there's some smut and a Princess Bride reference so it's not all bad.  Takes place during 2x07, aka that episode where Jaha and Abby debated if they should follow Lexa's order to leave and Clarke, Finn, Bellamy and Octavia spent the day de-Reapering Lincoln.  Raven was unaccounted for.  Clearly she was off spending the time being properly adored by her scruffy devotee.  Strong M rating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do We Have to Read the Kissing Parts?

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "The Princess Bride."

Raven slammed the door behind her as she entered engineering and Wick took a gulp of his moonshine, preparing for the storm. Genuine anger from Raven was usually icy, a cold stare that let you know your fuck-up was now her problem. Everything else was just condescension and casual mocking, the Mecha Station equivalent of Mama jokes. Physical tantrums weren't in her usual repertoire. 

"So how'd the meeting with Chancellor Abby go?" he asked. 

"She won't listen. Jaha is set on leaving and Abby refuses to stand up and say we're staying." 

"Miller from the Guard talked to her, too. Tried to make her see it as a parent. She told him no, too. Sinclair told them we only have portable water filters for 18 people and canteens for 100. With over 200 in the group, we'll all be dead of dehydration or shitting ourselves inside out in three days." 

"Byrne was headed in when I came out," Raven said. She'd exchanged glances with the blonde leader of the camp security forces, neither woman particularly pleased to see the other, but they hadn't spoken. "Any idea what side she's on?" 

"She's going to tell them that we're all dead the minute we step outside the gate. We're ready for a siege if we stay and we're a single file line of targets with not even a destination in mind if we go, and even if these Grounders give us safe passage to their borders, we're still screwed when we meet the next group." 

"What about you?" Raven asked. "What side are you on?" 

"I'm not going anywhere." He picked up his bottle and shook it a little, making the contents audibly splash. "If you're not packing, you might as well drink." 

She tried to protest - there had to be *something* she should be doing right now - but couldn't think of what it was. Sergeant Miller and three other parents took turns monitoring the radio feed from Mount Weather. She'd already checked in with Clarke, hoping for an assignment, and had come up empty. Raven had already made as many weapons as there were hands in camp and then some. Most were no more than sharpened pieces of metal in a quick handle, prison shanks for upstanding citizens who'd never so much as thrown a punch to use against trained warriors. "We're all going to die."

Wick nodded. "Probably. But I thought the same thing when they said they were going to land a satellite with us in it, and here I am." He poured a cup of the clear liquid for her and crossed the room to hand it to her. "We're not dead yet. Might as well live." 

Raven chugged the contents of the cup and sagged against the wall behind her. The liquid burned on the way down and then the heat radiated outward. It was terrible stuff, hard on the way down and harder the next morning, but a glass took the edges off the world and made you feel like you were snuggled safely in a blanket on a lazy Sunday morning. Her head tilted slightly to the side as she studied Wick. He’d been flirting with her non-stop since he got to the ground. Why the hell not go for it? The past stunk and tomorrow was like to be worse, but at this moment everyone she’d cared about was safe. A grin spread slowly across her face before she held her cup out to him for a refill.

He said, "You're shooting past relaxation and on into liquid courage." 

"Yes, I am." 

He placed his hands on the wall on either side of her, harmlessly pinning her to the wall as he leaned in to whisper in her ear, "Whatever this truly terrible plan is, I'm in." 

She spoke softly, forcing him to stay close to hear her. "It's a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad plan." 

He pushed off against the wall, no longer level with her ear but far enough away from her to make eye contact and close enough to smell the liquor on his breath. "Then you're definitely going to need my help." 

Raven closed her eyes. "I need another drink." 

"You haven't even given that one time to work yet. Do you really want to be smashed or do you want an excuse?" 

Raven's eyes flew open, and Wick recognized that look. She thought she'd been challenged. It wasn't what he'd been going for - hell he wasn't exactly sure what he was going for - but it would make things interesting. 

"I don't need an excuse," she snapped. "And get over yourself. I'm not going to climb in your lap just because the Grounders are coming."

Wick took her glass and carried it back across the room with him to his bottle of moonshine. "How many fingers?" he asked with a wicked grin. 

"Pervert." 

He chuckled, not the slightest bit ashamed. "It's a standard way to measure a pour of liquor. I didn't invent it." 

"Two." 

"Good answer. Five is just way too much at once." 

"Stop talking."

He did as he was told and gave back her glass, sipping his own slowly and watching as Raven's let the moonshine work its magic. She was pretty when she smiled. Hell, she was pretty all the time, but when she smiled at him she was approachable, not so far out of his league she might as well be a fantasy. Too smart, too successful, too brave, too determined to ever settle for a guy like him. Her next man would probably be on the council or a department head, but sometimes, when there was nothing else to do, she smiled at him. He leaned back in his chair and let the moment stretch, enjoying it while it lasted. 

"Are you on more than moonshine, Wick?" 

"Nope. I've been a very good boy for the last eight months." 

"Eight months?" 

Clarke rushed through the door and gave Wick a cursory glance before grabbing Raven's arm. "I need to talk to you. Alone." 

"I'll go study the supply closet," Wick offered. He gave Raven one last grin - the moment was over but he could try to hold onto it - and left. He was less than ten steps down the hall when Raven called him back. 

"They need out again," she said. 

No explanation. No expectation that he might say no. How was he so whipped by a woman who didn't even seem to see him most of the time?

"Did you already figure out how to get security out of the area or do you need me to do that, too?" 

Clarke looked puzzled. "I thought we just got lucky last time." 

"You were wrong," he said. "When are you going?" 

XXX

An hour later, after seeing off the Adventure Squad, Raven slid quietly into Wick's quarters. Like everyone else, he was holed up in a quickly constructed shanty. He'd scavenged a tarp to use as flooring. A layer of grasses covered in a sheet served as a mattress and a sleeping bag was his blanket. There was a Mecha Station toolkit and a rucksack in the corner and she resisted the urge to dig through the bag. She hadn't known she was blasting down to earth until a few minutes before she'd left and had lost the few possessions she'd had. Given time to pack and expecting to die, what had he brought with him? 

His voice interrupted her thoughts. "You're here, so I guess they made it out." 

"Yeah." She shuffled uncomfortably. There'd been nothing for her to do before and now with almost everyone she trusted gone, there was even less. All she could do was sit and wait. A lot of the camp was using the time to get drunk and complain about how little they'd be able to carry with them. Decisions had been made about which tools would have the most long term utility. Everything else, everything too big to carry, everything useless - which covered almost everything a zero-G mechanic used - would be left behind. 

"You can stay," he offered. "Talk. I'm out of 'shine, but I've got two liters of water." 

She cast a glance at the cushion, his bed, such as it was. It was more comfortable than the floor at least, and she wouldn't be alone. She'd spent most of her life alone with only Finn to break up the long stretches of quiet. Then she'd started work at Mecha Station, made it through the zero G program and they'd accepted her as one of their own. After them there had been The Hundred. She told herself that alone was her natural state, that she didn't need anyone, but if it was true there was no reason for her to stay behind when the rest of the people from the station moved out. 

She was killing Wick by staying. He hadn't said as much, but she knew. She was in his tribe as much as he was in hers, and he'd be wherever she needed him to be, even if it meant facing a band of trained warriors with nothing but a pocketknife and a smile. She took a seat on the bed, softer than the floor but still fairly hard, and asked, "So, you had a chance to pack before you left the Ark. What did you grab?" 

He grabbed his pack and started pulling out the contents; a canteen, a survival blanket, a few tools. "Nothing of mine. My quarters were destroyed when the ship was stolen. But, they did end rationing and I was able to grab something of yours from supply." He dug around in the bottom of the pack, finally flashing her a victorious grin as he found what he wanted. "Here you go, wrench monkey." 

It was a tiny screwdriver with a magnet affixed to the handle, and she recognized it immediately. The guys in Mecha Station had given it to her when she'd gotten her Zero G certification. The letters CC had been scratched into one side of the metal by Chavez Chang, the previous owner. She may have been the youngest zero G mechanic in 52 years, but he'd been, and still was, the youngest in the history of the Ark. Below his initials one of the Mecha Station guys had ornately engraved "Still better than you." You knew you were one of them when they bothered to give you a hard time. She loved that stupid screwdriver. 

"Thank you." She tried to fight off the huskiness in her voice and let sarcasm blanket the mess of emotions that tore at her. "I can't wait to use it again. Oh, wait, I guess I'll have to since this only fits the hull of Factory Station." 

Wick flopped back on the bed and teased, "Baby, if you need to screw you just let me know." 

"You wouldn't know what to do with me." 

"I'd be willing to learn."

She rolled her eyes at him and took another sip of water. Wick. He was just... built actually. On the Ark she’d been with Finn and she'd never really bothered to look at him; he was just another guy in Mecha. Now that she was up close, slightly drunk, getting on with her life and probably going to die tomorrow, she noticed that he was put together in an entirely acceptable way. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist and a flat stomach. Not bad. Wick's forearms looked good, muscular, capable. Very Mecha Station. She had to be drunker than she thought. There was no other explanation for how tempting Wick looked. 

"You're staring, Reyes." 

"It only looks like I'm staring because I can't focus my eyes." 

"So we're back to you making excuses? OK. Excuse made." He sat up and scooted closer to her but didn't actually make contact. "You're absolved of all responsibility. What do you want to do?" 

He was so close, and he wanted her. He’d given up all subtlety on the ground, but even on the Ark everyone in Mecha Station knew about his crush on her. Sinclair's wife was his biggest champion, mentioning to Raven what a hard worker and a "bright spirit" he was whenever she stopped by to see her husband. He wanted her. Not just a body, any body. Not just willing to take her if she offered. He wanted her. 

She leaned in and kissed him. He was all lip and restraint, desire held at bay, and she felt a rush of power as he trembled. All she'd done was kiss him, a little thing really, but she had his full attention. His lips relaxed when she kissed him again, but his neck was still stiff, so she let her hand rise to it, squeezing out the tension, bending his head slightly to the side. From there, one kiss flowed into the next and when her hand began to travel, moving first into his hair and then down and across his shoulders, Wick's own hands began to move. 

His touches were tentative at first, like his kisses, but desire won out. He was a quick study. She liked having her hair pulled, liked it when he held her hands behind her back while he bit her neck, liked when he pulled her into his lap, positioning her how he wanted her, with her legs wrapped around him. His hand had a firm grip on her hips, but she was the one who moved them, grinding her body rhythmically against his in a way that worked for both of them.

It struck her as ridiculous that they were both fully clothed. This was good, but it could be better. She slipped her hands under the hem of his shirt and felt him stiffen. His hand quickly covered hers, stopping her. 

He leaned away from her, breaking their kiss. His skin was flushed and his breath coming in pants as he said, "We can't. I can't." 

"We can," she promised. 

He tugged her hands away from his shirt, lacing his fingers in hers and bringing their hands between them, in line with their hearts but still forcing more space between them than there had been before. "I can't. I'm not this guy anymore, and as much as I want you - and God do I want you - I don't want to be him." 

"What the hell are you talking about?" 

"The goodtime guy. The one you sleep with because you're bored and the next day it's a little awkward and the day after that it's like it never happened."

"It won't be like that." 

He sighed, audibly and with the resignation of a prophet. "Yes. It would. Look, eight months ago it looked like you were finally free to date and my own mother told me I still didn’t have a shot with you because I wasn’t a man worth having. I decided to grow up, be someone that someone like you might want. I’m a hell of a long way from perfect, but the next woman I sleep with is going to be my wife. If you want to be her, I've still got problems with impulse control and a tablet in my pack we can use to send the marriage license request to the council. We can get married right now and I can have you naked in six minutes." He let go of her hands. "But I think all you want is to get laid. I already moon around after you enough. This... wouldn't help." 

Raven's tried to focus. She hadn't felt drunk in an hour, but now the world seemed to be spinning. "Did you just ask me to marry you?" 

"No. Unless the answer is yes. And if it is yes, then no I didn't ask because we should have a better story than that."

"Why would you even want to get married?" she asked. 

"Lazy mornings together, inside jokes, cuddling at night, always having someone who has your back and always having theirs, sex, a kid." 

"You want a kid?" she asked incredulously. She was still sitting in his lap with her legs wrapped around him. It didn’t seem like the right time for this conversation, but what she had planned seemed to have collapsed. Her life was one strange mess after another. 

"This is Earth, Raven. I want a kid, delete that, kids," he said, stretching out the S for emphasis, "And a dog. I want an apple tree with a treehouse in it. I want to go sledding in the winter and swimming in the summer. I want all the stuff we read about in books and never thought we'd have, and I want someone who wants to have it with me." 

"Life is harder than that." 

"Yeah, it is. Probably shorter, too. But I'm not dead yet, so I still want things." 

"We can't get any of that done before the Grounders come." They'd sworn to attack at dawn. "We won't even get a lazy morning." 

"I don’t care. I’m not doing anything that’s going to make it easy for you to ignore me. I love you, Raven. " 

Raven hesitated. She’d never even considered what it would be like to love someone other than Finn. What would that feel like? If you crushed together friendship, desire, trust, and hope, was that love? "I love you, too." 

"Do you want to get married or just laid? Just promise me tonight's not the end of us and..." 

She cut him off. "I can't promise that. The Grounders are coming. But if you want to start our future now, we can. I don't know how long it will last." 

"So pretty much the same as it's always been and probably always will be." 

She curled forward and rested her head on his shoulder. Marriage, family, planning the future, they were all acts of optimism. She was a woman of action and logic. She'd never given hope much space. They were staying. That was an act of hope. Why not another one? "Get the tablet. Let's apply for the license." 

He said, "Let’s do vows first. Before we do something you'll have to ask Abby to ignore." 

She nodded and moved to the side so he could take the few steps across the room to his toolkit, digging out a packet of flattened washers in various sizes. She couldn't have, wouldn't have, designed a wedding ring that suited her better. Quickly they found the right sizes. She held his in her hand, squeezing the familiar metal and running the words of the ceremony through her head. There was nothing in it she couldn't promise to Wick, nothing he hadn't already proven to her. 

She looked into his eyes, a lighter brown than his own, and felt hope flutter within her. She didn't trust hope; it was weak and easily crushed; but she trusted Wick. "All that I have and all that I am, I promise to share with you." 

She slid the ring onto his finger. He kissed her. 

"You're out of order," she said. 

He winked. "Making me a better man already. All that I have and all that I am, I promise to share with you." He slid the washer onto her left ring finger, sticking only briefly as it bumped past her knuckle. "I love you, Wrench Monkey." 

"Is that your pet name for me?" 

"As you wish." 

She kissed him then, and felt the ache of it all. She may never have caught the meaning of Wrench Monkey before, but she knew "as you wish." Again and again for years on end he'd called her Wrench Monkey, and she'd thought he'd just been teasing her for being the smallest, youngest, and most nimble of the mechanics. 

Quietly she asked, "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"You weren't ready to hear it and I wasn't ready to be had." 

He moved in, kissing her, pressing her back against the mattress and covering her body with his, sliding one hand up her side from her waist along the length of her arm and pinning it to the mattress above her head. "I really never would have guessed that you liked this." He grabbed the other arm and slammed it down beside the first, pinning both with one hand as he nipped and kissed his way across her collarbone and up her neck before running his teeth over her earlobe. "Always pictured you as an on top girl." 

"Both," she said. 

"Which first?" 

"Fuck me and find out." 

She felt his body stiffen with the same tense restraint he'd shown when they first kissed and rolled her hips against him. He didn't hesitate. His hands flew to the button at the waist of her pants, making short work of both the pants and her boots before his face settled between her thighs.

There were advantages to a man who'd been around and as her hips began to move to the rhythm of his fingers and his tongue she was glad for the part of their lives that hadn't included each other. This was good, so good, and he'd learned it somewhere, mastered his technique and now she was the beneficiary. Skills took time to master. Perfect pressure, perfect technique, and when he did something that made her cry out he noticed and did more of it. She whimpered and rose and broke under the attention of his mouth and hands. 

He left a trail of kisses as he moved back up her body, and her hands found his heads, pulling him up to her for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips even as his hands moved her legs where he wanted them and he slid against her. He stared into her eyes as he pushed into her, murmuring her name as he began to move. The gentle caution of new lovers gave way to the passion of need. His hip bones left bruises where they slammed against her and her nails left marks on his back. They stopped caring if the neighbors heard. He held on until she began to come but no longer. 

XXX

They awoke to the sound of 200 voices whispering to each other, a tense wave that sent them scrambling for their clothes and weapons and then quickly out the door. It was dark, and the hundreds of torch lights flickering on the hill each seemed to hold a threat. 

Wick slipped an arm around Raven’s waist and stepped forward, pressing his chest to her back. “So situation normal. We’re all going to die.”


End file.
